


Trivial Things

by protego



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Abuse, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 18:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12086916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protego/pseuds/protego
Summary: “She can’t make excuses for him anymore. She knows what he is, but there’s nothing she can do about it. It’s too late.”Snapshots from Kristen and Tom’s relationship.





	Trivial Things

It’s small things. It’s little things that are so trivial and silly that Kristen feels petty even thinking about them, let alone mentioning them to anyone else.

Tom calls her ‘Kristy’, even though she tells him she doesn’t like it. He texts her almost constantly, asking her where she is, and who she’s with. It’s sweet, that he cares so much, but she wishes he would leave her be sometimes. Her phone buzzes, and she has an almost Pavlovian response, and stops whatever she’s doing to check if it’s Tom.

“You don’t need to text him back straight away, you know,” Lee says jokingly, peering over her shoulder at the phone. Kristen smiles weakly, but sends the text anyway.

* * *

It’s little things that are so insignificant, and that’s how she knows she’s being melodramatic. But he steers her everywhere – he puts his hand on her lower back and guides her when she walks, forcing her to go where he wants her to, or to leave somewhere when he says so. He puts his arm over her shoulders when he stands next to her, as if he’s proudly showing her off.

They’re standing around in the record’s annex and Tom tells a joke. Kristen laughs for slightly longer than everyone else, and he raises an eyebrow at her and says, “Alright, Kristy. It wasn’t  _that_  funny.” And that’s all it takes to make her feel stupid.

* * *

Small things. Trivial things.

Kristen prefers her hair down, but Tom likes it up. Kristen prefers wearing flats, but he likes her in heels, because they show off her legs. And, bit by bit, she changes. She can’t wear black, because that’s ‘morbid as shit’ and she can’t wear skirts that are too short because ‘guys will look’.

She’s standing in front of the mirror, and Tom’s lying on the bed behind her, watching her do her makeup. Automatically, she turns to ask him what shade of lipstick would go with her dress. He makes a nondescript noise and shrugs.

“Anything that’s not bright red,” he says, nodding towards the one she’s currently holding. “It makes you look like a slut.”

Kristen looks down at the lipstick. She feels her cheeks burn. She likes this shade – it’s vibrant and classy and not too red. But now all she sees is how ridiculously chipper it is. It looks like clown makeup, now. Like something a woman who wanted to get noticed would wear. And she doesn’t need to get noticed. She has Tom.

* * *

“Who was that guy you were talking to?” Tom asks, walking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning on her shoulder. They’re right in the middle of the precinct, and Kristen feels like everyone is staring. She wants to pull away. She can feel his breath on her neck.

“Oh, just Mr. Nygma,” she says. “He works in the Forensics Department.”

“Nygma… Isn’t he the weird one? The one who talks in riddles?”

Kristen would nod, but she can’t really move, because Tom’s holding her, so she just murmurs, “Mhm.”

Tom is quiet for a few moments. She feels his grip on her tighten a little, like he’s trying to stop her leaving, like he thinks she’s going to go somewhere. She can’t see where he’s looking, because she’s staring down at her shoes, but she has the feeling he’s staring after Mr. Nygma.

“He wasn’t giving you any trouble, was he, babe?” Tom asks.

Kristen feels her stomach fall, and she wants to tell him  _yes_. She wants to say that Mr. Nygma always gives her trouble. He doesn’t leave her alone and he’s always in the record’s annex, telling her how to do her job, skulking around, giving her cakes with live ammunition in them, asking her trivia questions.

But she also wants to say that he’s sweet, and he means well, and that, sometimes, she thinks she’d like to get to know him better. That, sometimes, he’s so very endearing. His jokes are funny and his riddles are smart. She wishes he wasn’t so odd, because she’d like to be his friend.

But she knows she can’t say any of that.

“No, of course not,” she replies lightly. “He’s harmless.”

* * *

Over dinner, he’s looking at her in that way that he sometimes does. Kristen doesn’t look up from her plate, but she can feel his gaze on her skin. It’s heavy and slimy and it makes her feel like he’s already undressed her. She doesn’t want to stay the night – she doesn’t want to go into work tomorrow in the same clothes she wore today – but she already knows that’s what will happen.

After they’ve finished eating, she starts to clear the plates, but Tom tells her to leave it.

And then he’s kissing her neck and pushing her against the wall, and she lets him. Because she wants it, really.

“Oh, Tommy, I’m tired. Can we just –”

“C’mon, Kristy. Don’t be a spoilsport.”

So she gives in, because he’s already unbuttoning her dress, and if she didn’t want it, she wouldn’t have worn a dress she knows he loves. She wouldn’t have made it so difficult for him to concentrate all day at work. She wouldn’t have been so beautiful.

* * *

It’s an accident. He apologises afterwards. He was angry, and she knows how he gets when he’s angry. He says things he doesn’t mean.

(He was holding her arms so tightly that she could feel his fingers digging into her flesh, and it hurt, but when she cried out he told her to get over herself, that she was being pathetic. That’s how he gets when he’s angry. He gets quick-worded and short-tempered and everything is her fault.)

“You forgive me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

* * *

The necklace is pretty, and Tom says it brings out her eyes. Neither of them mention why he bought it. Her bruises have almost healed now. There’s no point talking about it, because he feels so guilty, and he’s said sorry so many times already, and he didn’t  _really_  hurt her.

 _Besides_ , Kristen thinks, admiring it in the mirror, _it is a very nice necklace_.

* * *

There are moments when it seems as if Lee knows what’s going on. Kristen catches her friend’s gaze lingering on her arms – which are always covered by long sleeves these days – or opening her mouth to almost say something when Kristen stops mid-conversation to reply to Tom’s texts. But, whatever she thinks is going on, she never voices it. Maybe she thinks she’ll offend Kristen. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t want to accuse a cop of being an abuser.

 _Abuse_. The word is on her mind constantly. Sometimes it’s barely a whisper, hardly a conscious thought. And sometimes it’s stamped across her brain in bold, black, capital letters. She can’t make excuses for him anymore. She knows what he is, but there’s nothing she can do about it. It’s too late.

And, when she and Lee go out for coffee, and Lee asks how things are, with an almost knowing look, Kristen wants to scream. But she always just smiles demurely, and says, “Things are fine.” And Lee says, “That’s good.” And they carry on.

* * *

She gets used to judging the mood immediately. Sometimes Tom comes to visit her at work, and he’s smiling pleasantly, and he’s friendly and warm, and he kisses her gently and tells her how his day’s going. Those are the good times. That’s when she’s left feeling breathless and flustered and loved. Because he can be wonderful, and he can make her feel so, so, special. Like she’s the only girl in the whole world.

And she wonders if it’ll be like this always, if she’s just good and careful and thoughtful, maybe it’ll stay like this. But it never does.

* * *

It doesn’t matter how many times she insists that she wasn’t looking at another man, she wasn’t even  _thinking_  about another man. Tom knows she’s lying. He tells her that he can smell it on her, and that it’s disgusting. No wonder guys are sniffing around her.

“I didn’t – I don’t –” But she’s so embarrassed, so mortified by what he’s implying, that she can’t even finish her sentence. And that’s proof of her guilt.

Tom smiles triumphantly, and it’s frightening how beautiful he looks when he’s angry. Like an avenging angel. And she can’t be angry at him. She wishes she could, but she can’t.

He doesn’t say anything else. Not while they’re at work. He just tells her that he’ll talk to her tonight, and he leaves the record’s annex.

* * *

He’s very calm on the way to his house, but the air is crackling with tension. Kristen doesn’t dare speak. She can feel what’s coming, and she just has to wait. But she doesn’t have to wait for very long, because he grabs her the moment he’s closed the front door.

“If I  _ever_  catch you with another man,” Tom says, gripping her shoulders and yanking her so close that she can feel his breath on her face and she can see the pores on his skin, “I will kill you. Do you understand?”

She’s so afraid that she can’t speak. She closes her eyes. When she first met him, she would never have believed it. Tom was good and sweet and kind. But now she knows that he could kill her if he wanted to. He could kill her right now. He’s so much bigger than her, so much stronger, so much more powerful.

He shakes her a little. “Kristen? Do you understand?”

“I… Yes.” Her voice is croaky and quiet.

“Say  _I understand, Tom_.”

“I understand, Tom.”

He lets her go and leaves the room, and she wants to do something dramatic, like collapse onto the floor in floods of tears. But no tears are coming, and she just feels empty. She walks over to the couch and sits down, and just stares at the blank TV screen.

* * *

A bruise here. A harsh name there. His quick temper. The way she feels so much smaller now, so much less than she once was. The way he says he’s sorry, so lovingly, so imploringly. His handsome smile, and his straight, white, teeth, and his bright eyes. Every time he says that he’ll never do it again.

Small things. Trivial things.


End file.
